and now we are 14

No, silly reader! Not 14F outside! We reached a high of only 9F (-13C).

Well then fourteen what?!

Years old! (Though when you get to be this old, you almost stop counting...)

Fourteen years old? Who?

Ocean, of course. I started publishing daily posts fourteen years ago today.

In recent years, I've never skipped a day. But honestly, putting up posts is child's play now. In the early years, the technology just wasn't there, especially when I strayed from home. I'd knock on doors, enter bars, use phone lines -- oh, the hours I would waste, the things I would do, just to find a daily connection! Ping! Photos uploaded! Ping! Published! Such a relief.

Too, in the early years, keeping a blog was a bit of an oddity. You blog? Why? Why? Why? Then it became passé: you're still blogging?  Now -- well, it's understood. I write Ocean posts. Even my Polish friends have come around to accepting this about me. I write daily. About seemingly inconsequential events that grow big only because I make them so. Which is profound in that it isn't very profound at all. It is life. We all live it, love it, want more of it.

So I write about it.


On a cold cold January day.






With all the warmth in the world found just inside this farmhouse. Over breakfast, for example.






Breakfast with Ed. A smiling Ed. Now that's hard to capture! He does everything to make this photo one of the more challenging ones to take at the start of each day! But today he grins.






I have inconsequential appointments and tasks all morning long. Tsk, tsk, tsk -- all those tasks, hurrying with them so that they will be done, so that I can pick up Snowdrop just after noon.

Normally, I would go to the bakery to stock up on breads and treats before I see Snowdrop, but today I ran out of time and so we set out together, despite the challenge of getting her in and out of a salt-dusted dirty old car and putting her in a seat that needs to be adjusted for all those winter layers.

Madison Sourdough - where I buy Snowdrop's croissants and Ed's cookies (pieces of which then migrate to Snowdrop's little hand) - has a parking lot with murals that I always thought are a beautiful backdrop for a photo of your most precious grandchild.

(She is studying the art...)






(... and finding the little bit of snow to walk in...)






Inside my box of purchases, she finds what is meant to be an Ed cookie.






I promise her a wee piece. Later. She is satisfied. I mean, she's in her pink pants and with her "beautiful scarf." It doesn't take much to bring out a Snowdrop smile.






The smile grows wide as I agree to a sled run at the farmette. 9F is a little disconcerting, but she swears she is warm!






Can I shovel here, grandma?






Finally, inside.  A run to the kitchen...






She knows where I store the cookies.






Mission accomplished.






Are you eating a cookie too, grandpa?






Snowdrop, it's nap time.
But I have to take care of the babies...






There is always a "but I have to..."

After the nap: is grandpa going to close the coop?
Yes... But you should stay inside. It's really cold now.
But I want to go with him!

Guess who wins that round?






Cheepers secure, in the coop.
Can I please go for a ride in the sled? 
Too cold...
Just a short ride?

Guess who wins that round?

She likes to drag her hands in the snow...






Grinning the whole time.

All the way, around the barn, to the welcoming, sparkling, beloved farmhouse.






Fourteen years of trying to find images and words that describe how beautiful it all can be.